Money's Worth
by RosieG
Summary: Written for a prompt on the Sherlock BBC Kink Meme. Sherlock and John discover an amusing quiz on-line. Just how much IS John Watson worth in bed?


Written for this prompt on The Sherlock BBC Kink Meme:

Sherlock and John find **THIS**: hellarity us/in-bed/index php (fill the blanks with periods) while surfing the internet.

Enjoy! I definitely did!

* * *

"John, you have to look at this!"

John looked up from the book he'd been reading. Well, trying to read. To be honest, he'd really only been pretending to be reading. The book wasn't that interesting, but for lack of anything better to do and due to extreme boredom, he'd found himself attempting it anyway. He'd been on the verge of nodding off when Sherlock's voice caused him to snap to attention.

"Whassit?" He said groggily, then cleared his throat to try again. "What is it? Is it a new case?"

Sherlock was perched on his chair at the desk, knees drawn up to his chin. He was clicking something on the screen of-

"Sherlock, I've told you to stop using my computer."

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes. But mine's in the kitchen."

"Sherlock, the kitchen is 10 meters away."

"Are you going to come and see this or not?"

John sighed and stood slowly from his chair. His knee had been bothering him again lately. He was beginning to recognize a pattern. A lack of a case meant a return of his limp and the longer the lull went on, the worse it got. Even dealing with a bored Sherlock wasn't necessarily as bad.

Sherlock was now frowning.

"Wait. That can't possibly be right. John? How is it possible that you're worth less in bed by the hour than I am?"

John froze. He was wrong. This was so much worse than having to put up with his stupid limp. He coughed once, barely blinking. "I'm sorry. What?"

Sherlock motioned him over. "It's this website. I'm guessing it was put up as a lark, but that still doesn't explain why it should be getting it so wrong."

John came up behind Sherlock and finally saw what had the consulting detective so riled up. Sherlock was right, it was definitely some sort of a gag site. It led someone through a series of questions and then gave them a price for how much they would be worth an hour in bed. It was actually quite amusing, if John thought about it, except that-

"Hang on. _Why_ were you looking up how much _I_ was worth?"

"Oh, come now, John, it's all in the name of research. I wanted to see if it was at all accurate, but clearly it can't be, because you've come out to be $107 dollars less than me."

John would never admit it, but he was actually quite flattered. Sherlock was complimenting him, in his own strange and convoluted way. But it was a complement nonetheless.

"Alright. Budge up. Let me see this."

Sherlock scooted his chair over and John dragged another one over to sit next to him.

"Let's do this again. Who knows what you even answered for me?" Sherlock made a sound of protest, but John shushed him. "Okay," John clicked the page and refreshed it. "To start- Male or Female. Well, obviously, male."

"Obviously."

"Right, question #1- Height." John frowned. This was a bit of a sore subject. He'd always thought he was 5"8, but Sherlock swore he was no taller than 5"6. And Sherlock's judgment was impeccable… "Five foot six." He grudgingly clicked the mouse. Sherlock's mouth twitched in an almost imperceptible grin.

"Number #2- body type. Athletic, I suppose. The army will do that to you, not to mention chasing you across half of London. So on to number #3- Age. Well, wish I was younger, but I'm not, so over thirty."

"John, you know the finest wines get better with age."

John couldn't help but smile at that.

"Number #4- Disease free? Are they serious? And if so, how is this not the first question?" He looked at Sherlock, who shrugged. John frowned at the computer. "Well, I should think so!" He clicked "Yes" and the little meter measuring his worth at the top jumped a considerable amount.

He snorted at number #5- Sexual Orientation. "Well, as you now very well know, you lecherous bastard," he said to Sherlock, who was trying not to snigger, "the answer to that is bisexual."

He felt himself pale as the next question came up.

"You know. I'm not sure this was actually such a good idea," he said, trying to minimize the screen. Sherlock caught his hand around the wrist. He was frowning.

"Why not? It can't be more than ten, maybe twelve. That's not a big deal."

John could feel himself cringing. "No, twelve wouldn't be so bad, you're right." But John had had a considerable amount more than twelve previous partners.

Sherlock's eyes widened ever so slightly. "But it was more, wasn't it?"

John bit his lip.

"How many?"

John shook his head

"Fifteen?"

…

"Seventeen?"

…

Sherlock sounded dazed. "It was _over_ twenty?"

John looked away and mumbled something incoherent.

"Twenty-seven? For fuck's sake! When did you have the time?"

John frowned. Sherlock rarely swore. "Look, it's done. It's past. I'm a different person than I was before I went to Afghanistan, all right? It was the only way I felt I could connect to people, what with Harry being the way she was and my mum and dad being gone."

Sherlock was looking almost- well- vulnerable, for a lack of a better word. It was a look that didn't suit him in the least.

"Sherlock."

The consulting detective looked up, frowning.

"You're the only one. Do you hear me? The _only_ one since Afghanistan. And likely to be the only one ever again."

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "You and Sara didn't-?"

"No." John shrugged. "I never really felt it. Not like with you."

Sherlock kept those piercing eyes on him a moment longer, as though trying to be sure of the truth, before he nodded, smiling slightly.

"Okay, then," John sighed, disaster averted. He clicked the "20+" option. "Next question."

"Do you have any tattoos?" John clicked, "One small one," just as Sherlock said, "No."

"What?"

John didn't think he'd _ever_ seen the detective so surprised, and definitely not by him. He laughed.

"Where? Where is it? I _must _see it immediately!" Sherlock started tugging on John's jumper, pulling it up over his torso, his fingers tickling him in his search to find the tattoo.

"Sherlock," John tried to protest, amidst giggles. "Sherlock! Stop!"

"No, John, I'm sorry, but it's unforgivable that I missed it. I'll have to conduct some extensive research."

John flailed trying to stop his flat-mate but only succeeded in over-balancing his chair, sending both of them sprawling to the floor. Moments later giggles were replaced by moans, gasps, and muffled cries of pleasure. The computer lay forgotten.

_32 minutes later_

"Right," John cleared his throat. He was seated at the computer once again, though he was, admittedly, now dressed in _only_ a jumper and his hair, which was in need of a trim, was sticking up at all angles. A very smug consulting detective in nothing but his pajama bottoms, seated himself next to John, setting down two steaming mugs of tea.

"Shall we continue?" he asked nonchalantly, as though he had not made John come screaming his name on the floor only five minutes earlier.

John shook his head, smiling. "You found the tattoo. Shouldn't that be enough for you?"

Sherlock smirked. "You know me too well for that, John. I'm absolutely _insatiable_ when it comes to certain things…"

John blushed. "Fine. Question number- what number were we on?"

"Eight," Sherlock said, taking a sip of his tea.

"Eight- How open are you sexually?" John grinned and looked over at Sherlock, making sure his partner saw as he clicked, "I'll Do Things You Have Never Even Heard Of".

Sherlock spluttered into his tea and began to cough violently. John patted him firmly on the back, still smiling deviously. "That's one upside to being on the more _experienced_ end of the sexual scale…"

Sherlock only swallowed, nodding dumbly.

John, feeling much more pleased with himself, moved on to question number #9. "Piercings?" He looked over at Sherlock, raising his eyebrows suggestively, but he couldn't bring himself to torture him for too long. It might be too much. He clicked on "None" and the detective actually let out a sigh of relief.

"Number #10- Education. Masters degree or higher, obviously." John raised his mug to take a sip of tea, but he was the one spluttering when he read the next question.

"What the bloody hell do they need to know the size of my penis for?"

Sherlock chuckled on his left, and John shook his head. At least he was enjoying something for a change that didn't involve body parts (besides his, of course).

"Well, Sherlock, what would you say? You'd have to be the best judge."

Sherlock smiled and took the mouse. He clicked "Large (7-8")". John blushed.

"Number #12- How would you describe your style?" John looked over the options. "Casual, I suppose." He was about to click it but Sherlock made a noise of protest.

"What?"

"Casual? I take offence to your calling your jumpers _casual_."

"Well, what would you call them, then?"

"John, I have never seen you in a jumper I didn't want to rip off of you a moment later. Your jumpers are undoubtedly _sexy_." To prove his point, Sherlock tugged John's current jumper up just enough to brush his fingers across his abdomen, making the muscles there jump lightly.

John chuckled. "To _you_, maybe, but it would take a truly twisted bunch of minds to decide that my jumpers were suddenly all the rage of the fashion world." And though Sherlock continued to protest, John clicked "Casual" nonetheless.

"Number #13. Sherlock, what would you say my conversation style is?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Honest and open, John. I would think that was obvious. It's one of the things I admire most about you."

John ducked his head. "I would have thought you'd say I'm an open book. You seem to read me so easily, after all."

Sherlock shook his head. "An open book? No, John. Never. I frequently find myself at a loss when it comes to you. Everyone else is so dull it hurts to speak to them, at times." Sherlock heaved a dramatic sigh and John snorted. "Well, it does!" Sherlock replied indignantly. "But not you." His smile was wistful. "You speak your mind, and more often than not," he gave a significant glance at the area where John's tattoo was, "I am most delightfully surprised."

John grinned. Perhaps he was being overly emotional, sappy even, but his relationship with Sherlock was still so new… Sometimes he found himself grinning like an idiot in the middle of a crime scene and then Sgt. Donovan would give him a _look_ that said she thought he was becoming as much of a "freak" as the original, and he'd smile even wider.

"Do you suffer from any of the following?" Sherlock was reading off the screen. "Snoring, no. Halitosis, no. Hypoacitive Sexual Desire Disorder- eeugh! Thank god, no!"

"There's nothing here about nightmares, I noticed," John said, matter-of-factly.

Sherlock sniggered. "Yes, apparently nightmares are _less_ common than '_Hyperactive_ Sexual Desire Disorder'," he read off the screen. "Which, allow me to say," Sherlock's eyes raked over John's half-naked form, "I can't imagine I would have minded terribly…"

"Do you mind the nightmares very much?" John asked, looking worried.

Sherlock looked thoughtful. "John, the last time you had a nightmare was three weeks ago. Since then I've made it an effort to shag you senseless before bed, every night I can." John blushed. "If your brain is still functioning after that," Sherlock leaned closer so that his breath was hot in John's ear, "then I'll just have to make sure to fuck you _harder_ next time."

John felt a shiver travel all the way from his ear down his spine to his toes. He swallowed convulsively. Sherlock pulled back, smirking.

"Right, so "nothing", then. Next." Sherlock, clicked to the next question.

"What would you rather do on a Friday night? Ah, here, I must admit, John, that I guessed."

"Okay," John said, a bit breathlessly as he was still trying to regain his full faculty of speech, "what did you guess?"

"Bowling?" Sherlock asked, uncertain. He sounded like a student guessing at a question his professor just asked him. John found it quite endearing.

"Sherlock," he said, chuckling, "I hate bowling."

Sherlock sighed, and it sounded like relief. "Good, I was worried I was going to have to take you, and wear those terrible shoes, as that seems to be the sort of thing couples enjoy doing together."

John laughed again at his flat-mate's complete lack of social understanding. "No. No bowling, and _certainly _noshoes, Sherlock. You don't have to worry. Click "Dinner and a Movie". If you want to take me out, that's the way to go. You can even skip the movie and just make it a nice dinner. What's next?"

Sherlock clicked to the next page. "How worldly are you?"

John was thoughtful for a moment as he looked at the options. "Does being in the army in Afghanistan count as living overseas? I _was_ there for over a year."

Sherlock nodded. "And I suppose the extensive travel part of the option will come later."

"Oh?"

"Of course, John. I plan to take you _everywhere_ when we can get around to it."

John wondered whether Sherlock intended the double meaning in that sentence. But Sherlock's face as he clicked, told him everything. Of _course_ he did.

"Number #17. Ah, the Inkblot Test. Here, again, I was forced to guess. More deduction, really, though, based on what I know of your thought process."

John nodded. "All right. What did you guess?"

"A mask." Sherlock sounded sure. Not at all like when he'd had to guess where John would want to go out. It was odd how the man's brain worked. And he was right.

Sherlock clicked and they moved on.

"Which foods do you prefer?"

"Spicy!" they both said at the same time, and John chuckled while Sherlock contented himself with looking slightly amused.

"Speaking of which," John said, looking around him for his phone.

"I already ordered," Sherlock declared, holding up his iphone.

John frowned. "What? When? I don't remember you-"

"You were still on the floor muttering 'Oh god, oh god,' with the odd 'holy fuck' tossed in in-between. I think it took you about two minutes until you were cognizant of anything, really." Sherlock was grinning like a Cheshire.

John groaned, hiding his face in Sherlock's shoulder.

He felt Sherlock's chest rumble as he read off the next question.

"What do you usually do after sex?" Sherlock shifted his weight so that John was leaning more comfortably into him. He laughed, the sound reverberating from deep inside. "Snuggle/Spoon, clearly."

"Last question. What matters most in your partner?"

John shifted so that he could see the screen. Sherlock was peering down at him, his lips turned ever so slightly into a small frown, the mouse arrow hovering over "Sexual Attraction".

John shook his head. "Personality, Sherlock. Don't misunderstand me, you're," John tried to find the words to properly describe Sherlock's body, but all he could come up with was a low grunt that came from deep in his throat. "But at the end of the day, I could never be with you if you weren't _you_. Does that make any sense?"

Sherlock nodded. He looked oddly touched as clicked the screen.

The screen read, 'Congratulations! You're worth MORE in bed than the average person taking this quiz!'

John was apparently worth $1,117 dollars an hour in bed.

Sherlock smirked. "I knew it! I knew I couldn't possibly have scored higher than you!"

John sighed. "You know this is absolute rubbish, don't you, Sherlock? And as for me scoring higher than you- who was the one muttering, 'Oh god, holy fuck,' a few minutes ago?"

"John, come on. You make my _brain_ turn off. Nothing else even comes close."

John didn't really know what to say to that. All in all, though, it was an amusing little quiz.

Sherlock slid his hand up in-between John's legs, rubbing against his thigh. "Now that we know just how much you should be charging John, I have to say," his knuckles just barely brushed against John's cock, causing it to twitch in response, "I want to make sure I get my money's worth."

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to stay under control. "That's fine," he said, feeling himself grow hard again. "But _this_ time," he opened his eyes and grabbed Sherlock's wrist in an iron grip, "_you'll_ be the one screaming as I make you come." Sherlock's eyes widened and John stood, pulling his _extremely_ lucky lover after him by the waistband of his pants.


End file.
